


You see, but do not observe

by Alice_huhhuhhhu



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Disguised Sherlock Holmes, Emotional Hurt, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, John Watson Thinks Sherlock Holmes is Dead, M/M, One Shot, Phone Calls & Telephones, Pining Sherlock Holmes, Post-Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Post-Reichenbach, Sad, Sherlock Holmes Is Not Okay, Sherlock is a Mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-01-30 20:27:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21434221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alice_huhhuhhhu/pseuds/Alice_huhhuhhhu
Summary: Set after and therefore contains spoilers for season 2 episode 3: The Reichenbach FallDespite pretending to be dead, Sherlock can't bring himself to stay away from John, even if it tears him apart.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	You see, but do not observe

**Author's Note:**

> Mainly inspired by headcanons and feeeels

From what Sherlock knew, there wasn’t much to criticize about John Watson, and if there was, he would gladly ignore it or pretend there were no flaws at all, despite knowing that flaws were what made people human and John was the most human being he had ever encountered. No, there was nothing he would complain about now, but one thing he had told his best friend in the past was that he saw without observing, and this little flaw was the biggest advantage he had right now. It was probably the only reason why he managed to stay remotely sane these days if he had to be honest with himself- something he rarely did.

“You see, but do not observe” he had scolded his partner back then, on more than one occasion, and although he had only gotten back exasperated sighs and disapproving looks for being a show-off, although John had been annoyed by his behaviour sometimes, he desperately wished for those good times to return.

When everything had been easy.

When he hadn’t been dead yet.

More than a year had passed, but to Sherlock, it felt more like a whole decade of running, hiding and solving crimes on the way. He was close, so damn close to his goal, and with every step he took on the rainy streets of London, he reminded himself that it wouldn’t have to go on like this for much longer. “Maybe a few months, a few weeks more of this nonsense” he mentally told himself as he threw on the safety vest and eyed the matching orange helmet which would be necessary to hide his dark curls. He would stop playing dead soon and return to his usual life, return to John’s side as soon as he was certain it was safe to do so.

_John_ _Watson_.

The name was connected to many joyful memories, but it left a bitter aftertaste when it rolled off his tongue, and he definitely didn’t like the way it made him feel. That didn’t stop Sherlock from whispering it when he was sure nobody could hear though, or from shouting it when he was woken up by the occasional nightmare, only to realize that his best friend was not there with him. What he really wanted to do was to step on top of that building again and scream it out loud so all of London would hear it -so _John_ would hear it- and know he wasn’t dead.

But Sherlock _was_ dead, at least to him.

Sherlock had tried to stay away and not give in to the temptation of going back to London until he was ready to come out of hiding, but something deep inside his soul had convinced him otherwise. Usually, loss of control over his own mind was something sherlock despised like nothing else, yet he couldn’t bring himself to regret returning here. These streets were familiar, they felt like home and, the best thing of all, they would eventually lead him to John.

For now, they needed maintenance. Sherlock put on the atrocious helmet and picked up a traffic cone. He wasn’t seriously going to do the job of a road worker, but he had to blend in if he wanted to stay hidden.

Precisely one hour and thirteen minutes later, Sherlock’s patience paid off when a short man stopped in front of the row of traffic cones on the pavement, frowned in annoyance and turned around to take a detour. It was always the same: the world’s only consulting detective fixed his eyes on John, tried to read the man as thoroughly as he could from the distance. The moustache was still there- unfortunately- and his friend looked healthy, balanced and, to the casual observer, completely fine. To Sherlock, he was like an open book.

Combed hair, a bit of product. Somewhat formal clothes. His hands were toying with the hem of his shirt- probably new and worn for the first time, a sure sign of discomfort. But there was a light smile on his lips, one that couldn’t even be wiped from his face by the construction site blocking his way, although he did check his watch. A date then. And, judging by the fact that he didn’t panic when he noticed he might be a few minutes late, not the first one.

Although he must have been the most conspicuous person in the crowd with this reflecting orange outfit, John didn’t even pay attention to Sherlock. Good. Well, not good, but good. Sherlock was close to shouting out his partner’s name, eager to see how he would stop in his tracks and turn around to face him and finally look into his eyes after all this time. Then he would make a call, cancel his date and walk back to 221B with him, maybe have a meal at the restaurant they had visited on their first case. John would ask him to tell the whole story, and Sherlock would, god, he would do _anything_ to spend time with John again.

But he couldn’t. Not yet.

And just like that, John walked away to meet the lucky woman he would enjoy a lovely evening with, leaving Sherlock tight-lipped and longing by the side of the blocked pavement where a fellow worker handed him a spade and harshly ordered him to work. There was no reason to play pretend now, and so he dropped the spade, ignored the furious worker who now began to shout insults at him, and just left the scene.

Another day, another costume. As pointless as it was, this little game was what helped Sherlock to pass the time- something he had way too much of lately- and it also was a good way to exercise his bored mind. This time, Sherlock didn’t even have to hide his miserable mood when he eyed the street corner John would most certainly turn up at in a few minutes. ‘Homeless man’ suited his dishevelled appearance alarmingly well, and he reminded himself that he should probably shave and do something against the dark circles around his eyes in the very near future.

There he was. John Watson, still with that moustache, still seeing but not observing when he bumped into a taller man dressed in old, worn-out clothes who carried a simple plastic bag in his hand, clutching onto the thing just a bit too tightly, almost as if he needed to hold onto something so he wouldn’t reach out and hug that short ex-army doctor.

“So sorry” a familiar voice called out as empty plastic bottles spilled all over the concrete at their feet. Sherlock immediately started picking them up, and, being the kind man he knew so well, John knelt down to help him with the task. Simultaneously, they both reached out for the last one, almost touching, _almost_ closing that small gap between their hands, but Sherlock pulled back his now slightly trembling one at the last second and buried it deep inside the pocked of the tattered jacket he was wearing, afraid that if he got a hold of that other hand, he would never let go again.

The last bottle disappeared inside the plastic bag with a sad, hollow sound. “Thank you” Sherlock breathed out, and his voice was _definitely_ _not_ shaking.

“No problem” John replied, looking at his face up close for the first time, squinting slightly as if he tried to remember something exceptionally important. Sherlock could see how the doctor’s little mind was working, how it tried to piece together what it was seeing.

Seeing, but not observing.

“Come on, think! Figure it out!” Sherlock shouted at him in his mind, but the reaction he had hoped for never came.

“Have a nice day, mister.”

And again, John walked away, out of Sherlock’s reach, out of his field of view, but never out of his thoughts.

By now, Sherlock was desperate. Four days, four costumes and four more-or-less-encounters later, he still hadn’t achieved what he wanted, although he didn’t quite know what his goal was either. A part of him wanted for John to finally notice on his own that he had been by his side for the past few days, but at the same time, he was afraid of being recognized.

His biggest fear though was that John had forgotten, moved on and stopped missing him at some point. Who would even miss a bossy know-it-all who constantly made everyone else around him feel dumb, unimportant and useless? About a year ago, the answer he would have given himself would be ‘John Watson, of course’, but discouraged by the recent events, Sherlock had serious doubts about it.

He was also running out of ideas, but he couldn’t stay away and do nothing. The urge to be close to the man he had shared a flat and, quite frankly, an important part of his life with was overwhelming, itching in the back of his mind and burning away the last bit of strength he had left.

In the end, he settled on his most efficient and simplest idea. Stepping into the next best phone box, he dialled John’s number. His hand hovered above the receiver for a brief moment longer than necessary while he was internally debating whether or not this was just stupid and childish, but he missed hearing John’s voice too much to back away now.

Sherlock picked up and listened. He didn’t have to wait long until a confused “Hello? John Watson here, who am I talking to?” broke the uncomfortable silence. The detective was unable to move, to speak, to do anything at all. He had intended to pretend to be a salesman or call for a telephone survey, but John’s voice, that close to his ear, made it impossible for him to think and maybe for the first time ever in his life, his hard-working brain went completely blank.

“Hello? Who is this?”

Sherlock started to panic. He had always, without a single exception, known what to do next. This was new, it was terrifying, and it had to be over as soon as possible. The tall man all but slammed the receiver back into its place before his legs gave out completely and he slid down with his back to the wall of the phone box. His whole body went limp as he sat on the cold floor. The sleeve of his coat rode up as he ran a hand through his hair, exposing several nicotine patches on the way too pale skin below.

“Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock” his brother’s voice echoed in his head. He hated to admit it, but Mycroft had been right: caring was a bloody punishment for enjoying the positive aspects of sentiment. He wouldn’t have it any other way then, maybe this was a suitable form of punishment for faking his death and hurting everyone around him by doing so. Maybe it was meant to be.

Sherlock would never know that while he had hung up, the person at the other end of the line had softly muttered “Sherlock?” before shaking his head in disbelief about letting his foolishly optimistic thoughts slip out and hanging up.

John was still hoping, still waiting, still seeing but not observing.

A certain consulting detective, on the other hand, was sitting on the dirty floor of a phone box somewhere in the streets of London, trying his best to keep it together. He knew what he had to do, and although it felt impossible to follow the instructions his brain yelled at him until his head ached, Sherlock stood up, awkwardly brushed himself off and stepped out into the light of day.

Sherlock Holmes would come back to be everything he had once been, but for now, he was just a road worker with an ugly helmet, some homeless bloke with a plastic bag, the mysterious person at the silent end of a phone line.

For now, he was dead.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look I made myself sad by writing this… at least I achieved to make this exactly 2000 words long without even trying XD


End file.
